The Honeymoon: A comedy in three acts
ACT II.
MRS. REACH HASLAM'S _study. A large apartment, richly and suitably furnished. The retreat of one of the most successful, most wealthy, and most majestic novelists in the world. Large and splendid desk (for two people, sitting opposite each other) about the middle of the room. Door back leading to hall, etc. Door_, L., _leading to drawing-room. Down stage, left, a sofa, which is partly hidden by a screen from the view of anyone entering by door_, L. _Date calendar on desk. Telephone._
_All the_ HASLAMS _except_ CHARLES _are in evening dress_. FLORA _is elaborately attired, with a light Egyptian shawl on her shoulders, and a fan._
TIME: _Same evening. Immediately after dinner._
_The_ BISHOP _is waiting, alone. Enter to him, from door back_, MRS. REACH HASLAM _followed by_ MR. REACH HASLAM.
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_As she enters._) Ah! Bishop. How good of you! (_Shakes hands._)
BISHOP. (_Shaking hands with_ _Mr. Reach Haslam_.) My dear Mrs. Reach Haslam. Not at all! I blush for my diocese--that such a deplorable and distressing accident should have occurred in it.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Then it really is true?
BISHOP. But I told you on the telephone.
MRS. R. HASLAM. I know, I know! I was only hoping against hope that perhaps after all you might have found that the marriage was legal.
BISHOP. (_Shaking his head._) No. His late father was undoubtedly in orders, his late brother also. But he himself was no more ordained than you are. (_To_ MR. REACH HASLAM, _who recoils_.) He presumed on his relationships.... In fact, his sole qualification seems to have been two old suits of his brother's.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Well, after all, it is perhaps better so.
BISHOP. Better, dear lady?
MRS. R. HASLAM. I mean that you have _not_ brought good news at the eleventh hour. Really---- (_Looking at_ MR. REACH HASLAM.)
MR. R. HASLAM. (_To whom the_ BISHOP, _puzzled, turns for an explanation_.) My wife, with her novelist's instinct, perceives the situation that would be created if we had to go into the drawing-room now and say to them suddenly, "Well, you are married, after all."
MRS. R. HASLAM. Excessively delicate. They would naturally have to leave the house at once.
BISHOP. Quite so. I cannot tell you how relieved I was to get your wire saying that you had overtaken them in time. Young people make such a mystery of the honeymoon nowadays that often they don't even leave a postal address. A dangerous innovation!
MR. R. HASLAM. Evidently.
BISHOP. I gather that you have brought them both here, poor things!
MRS. R. HASLAM. It seemed the wisest course. I consulted my husband, and he quite agreed with me that in view of the unusual circumstances we ought to act with the greatest prudence--for _their_ sakes! And so we motored quietly back to town and got here just in time for dinner. My son drove. I sat by his side. There wasn't room for their heavy luggage, and so Charlie is bringing that up by train. Charles is my other son.... (_Sighs._) And here we are!
BISHOP. Admirable! It's a case of----
MR. R. HASLAM. As you were.
BISHOP. Just so! Really a terrible blow to them--must have been! And to you, and to you! An appalling shock! How have they borne it?
MRS. R. HASLAM. Well--(_turning to_ MR. R. HASLAM). Father, how should you say they have borne it?
MR. R. HASLAM. Grimly. That is--on the grim side.
BISHOP. Ah!
MRS. R. HASLAM. Of course, my Lord, we are taking it for granted that the matter can be put right to-morrow, without fail, and beyond question. I have tried to comfort them with that absolute assurance.
BISHOP. My dear lady. Without fail! At any hour! _any_ hour ... up to three o'clock. That is why I have come specially to town--to convince you by my presence of my horror at the--er--crime, my sympathy with its innocent victims, and my utter determination that the ceremony shall be performed again to-morrow morning under my personal supervision and guarantee. I feel that I cannot do too much.
(_During the last words enter_ CUTHBERT, _back, with salver of letters and press cuttings, followed by parlour-maid with a tray of newspaper packets_.)
MRS. R. HASLAM. Will you excuse my husband while he deals with the post?
BISHOP. I beg---- (MR. REACH HASLAM _sits down to desk and takes the post. Exeunt_ SERVANTS.)
MRS. R. HASLAM. I ought to apologise for receiving you in my study, but I thought--my husband thought--we had better see you first alone. Are those the press cuttings, father?
(MR. REACH HASLAM, _nodding, opens press cuttings_.)
BISHOP. But for this unfortunate _contretemps_, what a charming coincidence that your new book should be published to-day of all days!
MRS. R. HASLAM. So you find time in your busy life, Bishop, to keep abreast of modern literature--even novels?
BISHOP. _Even_ novels! My dear lady, there is no greater force for good.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Or for evil--alas!
BISHOP. Quite so! I have often thought--I have indeed said so from the platform--that the two most truly important influences for good in our generation are your novels and the leaflets of the National Society for Promoting the Education of the Poor in the Principles of the Established Church.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Indeed! Father, do you recall that press-cutting?
MR. R. HASLAM. (_Busy._) No.
BISHOP. It was reported in our Diocesan Magazine.
MRS. R. HASLAM. And yet, my dear Bishop, I have more than once felt it my duty to criticise the Church rather sharply in my work.
BISHOP. I know, I know. We bow the head, we kiss the rod.
MRS. R. HASLAM. In my new novel I am back in politics again. Have you seen it yet?
BISHOP. No, not yet. But I have already ordered it from Boot's.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Boot's?
BISHOP. Yes, the cash chemists. I find their circulating library the most economical of all. And I have to be particular. As you know, I publish every year a detailed account of all my expenditure, personal and otherwise, and too large a sum for books might be misconstrued as self-indulgence, especially in a bachelor.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Ah, yes. (_Handing him a book._) Here is a copy.
BISHOP. Pretty cover.
MR. R. HASLAM. (_To his wife, in a low tone._) Twenty-one columns.
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Pleased._) Really!
BISHOP. (_Looking up._) Twenty-one columns?
MRS. R. HASLAM. We are treating you without ceremony, my dear Bishop. My husband has just calculated the total length of the reviews of my book that have appeared in the London papers on the first day. Of course we attach no value whatever to the actual opinions expressed--the critics have to work in such a hurry--and they are so sadly unfitted for their work, poor dears--but the amount of space given is an excellent indication of the public importance ascribed to the book.
BISHOP. (_Who has been inspecting the book._) How true!
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_To_ Mr. REACH HASLAM.) Anything special?
MR. R. HASLAM. No. "Surpassed herself," seven or eight times. "Masterpiece," fourteen times. The "Piccadilly Gazette" is unfavourable.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Very?
MR. R. HASLAM. Yes.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Better tell me.
MR. R. HASLAM. (_Deprecating gesture, reads._) "The book is of course admirable in workmanship, knowledge and insight, but Mrs. Reach Haslam has not, if the truth must be told, surpassed herself."
MRS. R. HASLAM. If I'd known about that when I saw their lady reporter this morning!...
BISHOP. (_Putting the book down._) Enthralling narrative! Enthralling! Now, my dear lady (_rising_).
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Interrupting him._) Please sit down. As you are having a glimpse of me in my profession to-night, I want to ask you one or two professional questions--about the psychology of that false curate.
BISHOP. (_Sitting down again._) Yes, yes. Psychology. Just so.
MRS. R. HASLAM. I never lose an opportunity of gathering material. Father, will you mind taking down? My husband is good enough to act as my stenographer.
BISHOP. Touching!
MRS. R. HASLAM. Now I noticed nothing remarkable about that curate.
BISHOP. (_Agreeing._) No. And yet, you know--curious thing--he's a gentleman, quite! Oh, quite! And I even remember once meeting his father, when I was Court Chaplain, at a garden party in aid of the Additional Curates Society.
MR. R. HASLAM. (_Repeating what he has written._) Curates Society.
MRS. R. HASLAM. But why should he choose to personate a curate? That is what is so interesting to a novelist. Why a curate? It couldn't have been for the money, or the glory.
MR. R. HASLAM. Glory.
BISHOP. The case is highly peculiar. He is certainly not without means, or brains. My opinion is that his action was due to excessive intellectual curiosity. He told me he wanted to feel what it was like to be a curate.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Yet he looked quite sane.
BISHOP. Oh, quite! Astonishing story! His brother, through the influence of the Primate, had been engaged as curate, by the Vicar of St. Saviour's, Chelmsford, subject to an interview. This brother had been doing some chaplaining in Switzerland--just rough winter work. On the way home he died suddenly in Paris. Well, our friend of this morning calmly took up the dead man's identity. Came to Chelmsford, conquered the simple Vicar, and was at once accepted. That was two months ago.
MR. R. HASLAM. Ago.
MRS. R. HASLAM. But how dangerous.
BISHOP. So I pointed out to him. His reply was that it was just the danger that had attracted him--coupled with the desire to understand why the members of his family had had such a passion for curacy. It seems that two of his sisters have espoused curates. This will be a grievous blow for all of them.
MR. R. HASLAM. All of them.
MRS. R. HASLAM. But why should the man be struck with remorse just now?
BISHOP. Well, his explanation is that he was so moved by the bride's beauty.
MR. R. HASLAM. Duty.
BISHOP. Beauty. (_Gesture of mild triumph from_ MR. REACH HASLAM _to_ MRS. REACH HASLAM.) He could not bear to think that any action of his should cause--er--inconvenience to a woman so beautiful. Hence he came to me at once. Fortunately I happened to be at the Palace.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Had he performed any other marriages?
BISHOP. Happily none; but he had celebrated ten funerals and four baptisms. However these did not seem to trouble him in the least, I regret to say. It was the wedding alone that roused his conscience.
MR. R. HASLAM. Conscience.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Of course you sent for the police.
BISHOP. I trust and believe that he is now in prison. But I did not send for the police. The Church has its dignity to maintain against the civil judicature in these modern days. Also with so much irreligion--shall I say?--flaunting in the very air, She must avoid scandal--particularly local scandal. London scandal is less deleterious. Accordingly I brought the young man up to town with me, and I put him into a cab for the police-station, where he will surrender himself of his own free will to the law. I prefer that way. It is, perhaps, original; but nowadays we Bishops have to be original.
MRS. R. HASLAM. But do you really suppose he has surrendered?
BISHOP. I am sure of it. I cannot pretend to your skill in reading character, dear lady, but I know a gentleman at sight.
MR. R. HASLAM. Sight.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Of course, if one put such a story into a novel, it would never be believed. That's the worst of real life.
BISHOP. And yet this distressing affair reminded me strongly of the false archdeacon in "The Woman of Kent."
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Pleased._) Ah! You remember my early book?
BISHOP. (_Protestingly._) My dear lady! You have no more earnest student! And may I add that from the first I found that episode of the false archdeacon entirely convincing. Its convincingness was one of the very few points on which I shared the opinions of the late Mr. Gladstone. "The Woman of Kent" has always been a favourite of mine among your novels. It must have had a vast circulation.
MRS. R. HASLAM. How many copies, father?
MR. R. HASLAM. (_Without looking up from the desk._) One hundred and seventy-two thousand.
BISHOP. Wonderful memory!
MRS. R. HASLAM. Is it not? He knows more about my books than I do myself, far more.
BISHOP. Touching. (_Rising._) I must go--reluctantly. Now what time shall we say for to-morrow morning? I am absolutely at your disposal.
MRS. R. HASLAM. But do we understand that you mean to conduct the ceremony in person?
BISHOP. I do. I wish particularly to show by my presence at the altar my sense of what complete reparation is due to you--due to you all.
MRS. R. HASLAM. I think we had better consult Flora herself. (_Rings bell._) As you know, my original intention was that you should be asked to preside at the ceremony. But the young people insisted on a simple curate--doubtless from modesty, my dear Bishop.... Would that I had been firm in the first instance!
(_Enter_ CUTHBERT, _back_.)
MRS. R. HASLAM. Is Mrs. Lloyd in the drawing-room?
CUTHBERT. Yes, ma'am.
MRS. R. HASLAM. With Mr. Cedric?
CUTHBERT. No, ma'am. She is alone.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Will you tell her that I should be very much obliged if she could join us here for a moment.
CUTHBERT. Yes, ma'am.... A representative of the "Piccadilly Gazette" has just called, ma'am--for information. A male representative.
MRS. R. HASLAM. "The Piccadilly"! (_To_ MR. R. HASLAM.) The audacity! (_To_ CUTHBERT.) About what? (CUTHBERT _makes a gesture of embarrassment_.) You told him to call again to-morrow?
CUTHBERT. No, ma'am. He's waiting.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Father, would you mind going out to him? (_Exit_ CUTHBERT.) I really wonder at Cuthbert! (_To_ BISHOP.) We have an absolute rule against seeing journalists after dinner. As you know, Bishop, I detest notoriety. Hence our rule. And yet Cuthbert allows this man to wait!
MR. R. HASLAM. (_Going to door._) Cuthbert is not himself. Cuthbert has been staggered by the events of the day. The strain of pretending that nothing in the least unusual has happened must be tremendous. Allowance should be made for Cuthbert. How shall I treat this invader?
(_The_ BISHOP _dips into the novel_.)
MRS. R. HASLAM. Well, without actually mentioning their review, perhaps you might just indicate by your manner----
MR. R. HASLAM. These journalists are so obtuse, but still----
MRS. R. HASLAM. I think perhaps if you said that we cannot understand how a purely private matter can interest the public, but that if they _must_ know, the Bishop is here in person, and---- (MR. REACH HASLAM _nods_.) You think that will be judicious?
MR. R. HASLAM. Quite. (_Exit back._)
BISHOP. (_Putting down the book._) Enthralling!
(_Enter_ FLORA, L.)
MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora, darling, this is the Bishop of Chelmsford--Mrs. Lloyd, my--er--prospective daughter-in-law.
FLORA. (_Stiffly._) My lord.
BISHOP. My dear young lady, I have already tried to express to Mrs. Haslam my consternation, my shame, at the----
FLORA. (_Smiling coldly._) I am sure that is sufficient.
MRS. R. HASLAM. The Bishop has come to town specially to see us, Flora. In order to guard against any possibility of further accident, he has kindly suggested that he should officiate himself to-morrow morning.
FLORA. (_To_ BISHOP.) It's really very good of you.
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Relieved._) Is it not?
BISHOP. At what hour? I am entirely at your disposal.
FLORA. Oh, any time!
BISHOP. Noon? If you come down by the nine-fifteen train----
FLORA. That will do perfectly.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Where is Cedric, dear?
FLORA. I have no idea. Shall I see? (_Exit_, L.)
BISHOP. The dear child has evidently been much upset.
MRS. R. HASLAM. We all have.
BISHOP. Ravishing creature! Who was Mr. Lloyd?
MRS. R. HASLAM. He seems to have been on the Stock Exchange. He was a Chelmsford man, and had a house just outside the town.
BISHOP. Indeed! I never met him. Did he leave a large fortune?
MRS. R. HASLAM. Oh, no! The house--not much else, I believe.
BISHOP. Probably an admiration for your work was the original basis of the--er----
MRS. R. HASLAM. Oh, no! I was first introduced to Mrs. Lloyd by Charlie, my second son. In fact, quite confidentially, Bishop; we thought it was a match between _them_.
BISHOP. But heaven decided otherwise?
MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric decided otherwise.
(_Enter_ MR. R. HASLAM, _back_.)
MR. R. HASLAM. Flora tells me that it is arranged for to-morrow.
BISHOP. Yes. I have just been hearing from Mrs. Haslam how this beautiful young lady has attracted both your sons.
MR. R. HASLAM. Very catching. Ran through the family.
BISHOP. Ha, ha! (_Seriously._) Ravishing creature!
MRS. R. HASLAM. Has Charlie come yet?
MR. R. HASLAM. No.
MRS. R. HASLAM. If he isn't here soon I fear he'll be late for the office. And he's had no sleep to-day, poor boy. (_To_ BISHOP.) Charles is the assistant manager of the circulation department of the "Daily Sentinel," and his hours are from 9.30 at night till three in the morning.
BISHOP. How trying! I'm afraid we little think when we open our newspaper at breakfast--I always read the "Sentinel"--we little think what an immense amount of endeavour----
(_Enter_ CHARLES, _back._)
CHARLES. Hullo! Mater. No trace of any dinner for me in the dining-room. Here you stick me up with the luggage and all the dirty work----
MRS. R. HASLAM. Charles, the Bishop of Chelmsford.
BISHOP. We have met once before, I think. (_Shaking hands._) Now, dear Mrs. Haslam (_looking at his watch_), I have half an hour to get to Liverpool Street.
MRS. R. HASLAM. You return to Chelmsford to-night?
BISHOP. Essential! I have a midnight procession of drunkards. You know they call me "the drunkards' Bishop." I am proud of the title.
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Shaking hands._) Exceedingly good of you to have come.
BISHOP. Not at all. The obligation is mine for your forbearance. Now--may I presume on our slight acquaintanceship? If at any time you should think of adding a Bishop to your wonderful gallery of contemporary portraits, and I could be of assistance--need I say more?
MRS. R. HASLAM. I have already drawn two.
BISHOP. Really?
MR. R. HASLAM. Suffragans, my dear.
BISHOP. Ah! Suffragans! I thought I could not have forgotten two Bishops. Till to-morrow then, at noon. Young man, till to-morrow. (_Shakes hands with_ CHARLES.)
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_As_ BISHOP _and_ MR. R. HASLAM _go out_.) Father, would you mind speaking firmly to Cuthbert about Charlie's dinner?
(_Exeunt_ BISHOP _and_ MR. REACH HASLAM, _back_.)
CHARLES. Why the Bishop?
MRS. R. HASLAM. He came up specially to arrange for to-morrow. Certainly it was the least he could do.
CHARLES. To-morrow?
MRS. R. HASLAM. The wedding.
CHARLES. Oh yes, of course, I was forgetting.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Really, Charlie, you get more and more absent-minded as you grow older. I'm not sorry Cedric won't let you meddle with aeroplanes. The wedding will be at noon to-morrow. We go down by the nine-fifteen.
CHARLES. With all that luggage again! It would have been simpler to leave it where it was. Seven trunks! What with cabs, tips, fares, excess, and a special omnibus, somebody owes me one pound thirteen, not to speak of compensation for the total loss of tea, dinner, and temper.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Well, you are always enthusiastic about Flora's clothes. We acted for the best. We couldn't tell exactly what would happen. Fortunately the Bishop saw at once that it was his duty to take things in hand himself.
CHARLES. I should say that what the Bishop saw was a chance of getting himself into one of your books, mater.
MRS. R. HASLAM. That also is possible.
CHARLES. (_Imitating the_ BISHOP.) "Need I say more?" What a cuckoo!
MRS. R. HASLAM. Charles!
(_Enter_ CEDRIC, L.)
CEDRIC. Has that dashed Bishop actually departed? I began to think he was going to spend the night here.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric! I am ready to make great allowances, but I _really_ do not know what has come over my sons.
CEDRIC. Sorry, mother. (_To_ CHARLES.) Hello! You back?
MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora's told you it's all arranged for noon to-morrow?
CEDRIC. No. Haven't seen her.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Well, it is. And now, my boys, you can't stay any longer in your mother's study. My article for "Harper's" must absolutely be finished to-night. Your father and I had been expecting a placid afternoon and evening of work.
CHARLES. By the way, Rick. About that Klopstock business. Of course you've seen the papers. (CEDRIC _nods_.)
MRS. R. HASLAM. Oh, yes. I quite intended to mention that, Cedric; but really one has had so many things to think about--and my article, too! How very awkward it is, isn't it?
CHARLES. I met one of our johnnies at Liverpool Street, and he was a little excited about it. And I may inform you it isn't often our johnnies do get excited.
CEDRIC. Oh! (_Sits down on sofa._)
CHARLES. He told me they'd received a later wire at the office, from Breslau, saying that Klopstock has had a private trial over a mountain near there--I forget the name--and done it, my boy! Done it on his head!
CEDRIC. Has he, indeed?
CHARLES. And he'll be over here in a week or ten days, it seems. They want to know at the office exactly what you're going to do. So I told the johnnie I should be seeing you to-night, and I'd bring an official message. I had to explain to him a bit what had happened--couldn't help it. I suppose you'll be forced to cut the honeymoon next week and begin to get things into shape at once.
MRS. R. HASLAM. It _is_ annoying for you, dear, and for Flora, too!
CEDRIC. I shan't do any such thing.
CHARLES. You surely won't let him----
CEDRIC. I shan't do anything for a full month.
CHARLES. Do you mean to say you'll let Klopstock get in first.
CEDRIC. If Klopstock chooses to try during my honeymoon, I can't help that, can I? Let somebody else have a shot. I'm not the only aviator in England, confound it!
MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric!
CHARLES. You're the only aviator in England that can get in front of Klopstock over Snowdon.
CEDRIC. I can't help that.
MRS. R. HASLAM. But, Cedric--surely your duty----
CEDRIC. Oh! d---- (_stopping himself_).
(_Enter_ FLORA. _As soon as she perceives_ CEDRIC, _who has been hidden from her by the screen, she makes as if to leave the room again_.)
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Recalling her._) Flora.
FLORA. (_With false simplicity._) So you _are_ back, Charlie. What an angel you've been to worry yourself with all that big luggage.
CHARLIE. Oh! That's all right (_surveying her_). I see you had at least one frock in the portmanteau. We were just discussing the Snowdon flight. So you two have decided----
FLORA. No, we really settled nothing. Cedric alone settles that, of course. All questions relating to aeroplanes should be addressed to the head of the flying department and not to the firm.
CEDRIC. (_Rising, with restrained savageness._) I tell you I shall do nothing whatever for a full month. (_Exit_, L.)
CHARLES. (_Trying to break the extreme awkwardness caused by_ CEDRIC'S _behaviour, in a bantering but affectionate tone_.) I suspect the fact is that the bones of a husband are doubly precious in her sight.
MRS. R. HASLAM. But you don't really think there is any special danger, do you, Flora dear?
FLORA. Of course not. If I wasn't convinced that Cedric in his aeroplane is a great deal safer than Charlie in a motor-car, or Paderewski at the end of a concert, or a cabinet minister at a public meeting, should I have gone as far as marrying him?
MRS. R. HASLAM. Then, seeing how serious it is for the country, why----
FLORA. My dear, you must ask Cedric. I don't interfere with business.
(_Enter_ CUTHBERT, _back_.)
CUTHBERT. A Mr. Frampington, to see the Bishop, ma'am. I told him his Grace had gone, and now he asks to see either you or Mr. Haslam.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Mr. Frampington? Where is your master?
CUTHBERT. I believe he's in the kitchen at the moment, ma'am.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Frampington?
CHARLES. Wasn't that the name of our young hopeful this morning?
FLORA. (_Brightening again._) The imitation curate? Of course it was!
MRS. R. HASLAM. But surely----
CUTHBERT. He bears no resemblance to a curate, ma'am.
FLORA. Then it is he! Oh! if it is, do let's see him! In private life he must be extremely interesting. (_To_ CUTHBERT.) Show him in, will you, please?
(_Exit_ CUTHBERT.)
MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora--really I don't know what's come over you all!
FLORA. It seems to me that the curate has come over us all.
(_Enter_ CUTHBERT, _and_ FRAMPINGTON _in tourist attire_.)
(_Exit_ CUTHBERT.)
FRAMPINGTON. (_In a quite natural, easy tone._) We meet again. I'm so sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Haslam, but I'm in a slight difficulty, and I hoped to find the Bishop here.
MRS. R. HASLAM. The Bishop left a few minutes ago.
FLORA. Won't you sit down? (_Outraged glance from_ MRS. R. HASLAM. FRAMPINGTON _sits down calmly_.) May one inquire what this slight difficulty is?
FRAMPINGTON. (_After a little hesitation._) I suppose the Bishop has explained everything?
MRS. R. HASLAM. So far as everything is capable of explanation, yes.
FRAMPINGTON. I'm glad of that. It makes the situation so much easier. No doubt the Bishop gave you all the messages of apology and regret that I asked him to deliver on my behalf.
FLORA. (_To_ MRS. REACH HASLAM.) Did he?
MRS. R. HASLAM. No. He only spoke for himself.
FRAMPINGTON. That was not nice of him.
MRS. R. HASLAM. He told us you were a gentleman----
FRAMPINGTON. Generous!
MRS. R. HASLAM. And that you had promised to go to the police-station and give yourself up of your own accord.
FRAMPINGTON. Quite correct. And as soon as I'd got something to eat I took a cab and went to Vine Street. Well, they refused to take me in.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Refused to take you in!
FRAMPINGTON. Wouldn't even take my name.
MRS. R. HASLAM. But did you tell them clearly what you'd done--your crime?
FRAMPINGTON. I was most explicit.
FLORA. I suppose it _is_ a crime.
FRAMPINGTON. Oh, yes! It's a crime all right. As far as the Bishop and I could make out, it means anything up to three years; but I must say the episcopal library at Chelmsford isn't very strong in criminal law. It seems to deal chiefly with vegetarianism and drunkenness.
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Brushing all this aside._) I may be dull, Mr.----
FRAMPINGTON. Frampington.
MRS. R. HASLAM. But I don't yet understand why you've come here.
FLORA. Mr. Frampington was going to explain how it was the police-station was so inhospitable.
FRAMPINGTON. The Inspector wouldn't believe my story. He thought I was a practical joker.
FLORA. And don't you think you are?
FRAMPINGTON. (_Judicially._) Depends how one looks at it. I feel sure I should have been more convincing if I hadn't changed my clothes. But the Bishop insisted on me doing that, and so I put on the only suit I had. And then I found I'd chosen a bad night. Owing to these vivisection riots, they were doing a big business in medical students at Vine Street. In fact, my suspicion is that all their cells were engaged. And there's another thing--I don't think I ought to have gone to Vine Street. Vine Street specialises in what you may call West End cases--pocket-picking, confidence tricks, murder, aristocratic inebriety, and so on. It runs in a groove. But then Vine Street was the only police-station that I was personally acquainted with--a youthful souvenir of Boatrace night--and so I went there. It was a mistake.
MRS. R. HASLAM. I'm afraid you didn't insist.
FRAMPINGTON. Yes. I did. I insisted so much that at last the Inspector got cross and said that if I didn't clear he _should_ lock me up.
MRS. R. HASLAM. And wasn't that enough for you, my man?
FRAMPINGTON. (_Starting slightly at the appellation._) It was too much. I naturally wanted to be locked up for the right thing. The truth is the Inspector thought I was drunk--probably because I was so calm. One of the constables said I--er--smelt of drink.
MRS. R. HASLAM. And did you?
FRAMPINGTON. Certainly not. Beyond half-a-pint of Bordeaux at the Ritz, I assure you I had had nothing whatever.
FLORA. The Ritz?
FRAMPINGTON. Why not, madam?
FLORA. As you say, why not!
FRAMPINGTON. It was handy for Vine Street, and this being my last night of freedom, you see---- As a novelist, Mrs. Haslam, you will understand I had a natural desire to do myself well.
MRS. R. HASLAM. The only thing I understand is that you seem to have come here for the pleasure of hearing yourself talk.
FRAMPINGTON. (_Rising simply._) I beg your pardon. I came here to ask the Bishop to accompany me to the police-station as corroborative evidence. When your servant told me he wasn't here, the idea occurred to me that perhaps some member of your family wouldn't mind going with me--just to identify me.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Charlie, you'd better go on your way to the office.
CHARLES. That's all very well, but----
FRAMPINGTON. It would be very good of you. But I really think we ought to try another police-station. Bow Street would be better--more classical--if it isn't too much off your beat.
FLORA. Why don't you go to Liverpool Street?
FRAMPINGTON. But Liverpool Street is not a police-station.
FLORA. No. But it's a railway station. Chelmsford isn't the only place it leads to. There's Harwich, for instance, the continent---- (_Smiles._)
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_In a low voice._) Really, Flora! Christianity can be carried too far.
FRAMPINGTON. (_To_ FLORA.) I should be caught. And, honestly, I prefer the new experience which lies before me. It can't last long. And new experiences are my hobby.
FLORA. But this is serious. You mayn't get a long sentence, but when you're discharged from prison you'll be a social outcast.
FRAMPINGTON. Oh, no, I shan't. In two years time I come into twenty thousand pounds.
FLORA. I see.
FRAMPINGTON. (_To_ CHARLES.) May I count on your help? (_Bowing adieu to_ MRS. R. HASLAM.) Madam. (_To_ FLORA.) Mrs. Lloyd, your sympathy is very remarkable, and I appreciate it. Please accept my sincerest apologies for any temporary inconvenience I may have caused you. I assure you, this morning I didn't realise until afterwards the awful seriousness of what I'd done.
FLORA. Neither did I. Well, good luck! (_Shakes hands with him to the deep astonishment of_ MRS. REACH HASLAM.)
(FRAMPINGTON _goes towards door_. CHARLES _uncertainly goes in the same direction, then stops_.)
CHARLES. (_To_ FRAMPINGTON.) Just wait in the hall a moment, will you?
FRAMPINGTON. Certainly. (_Exit back._)
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Turning to_ FLORA.) Well, it's not often that I'm left speechless----
CHARLES. Look here, mater. You send me off with this lunatic, but it doesn't seem to have occurred to you that I've had no dinner. I haven't even had time to wash.
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Before he has finished._) Why _did_ you shake hands with him, dear? You were almost effusive.
FLORA. I felt almost effusive.
CHARLES. But don't you think he's off his nut?
FLORA. Whatever he is, he's saved me from something that's rather awful to think about.
MRS. R. HASLAM. He's what?
FLORA. I may as well tell you now--Cedric and I aren't going to get married to-morrow.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Not going to---- (_stops_). But you've just arranged with the Bishop!
FLORA. I know. But that was simply my cowardice. The truth is I hadn't the heart to tell him. I felt that we could express ourselves more comfortably in a telegram than by word of mouth.
MRS. R. HASLAM. _We!_ But--but what's wrong with to-morrow, Flora?
FLORA. Nothing. It's no worse than any other day. Only we aren't going to get married at all.
MRS. R. HASLAM. But you _are_ married--practically. I mean----
FLORA. (_Shakes her head._) Not even theoretically.
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_With a certain dignified appeal._) Flora, I'm not as young as you are. I'm a hard working woman. My work is terribly in arrear. But I've never broken a contract yet, and I must finish to-night that article of mine for "Harper's" on "A Remedy for the Decline of the Birthrate in London Society." The subject is delicate for a popular magazine, and I need to have my mind free. May I beg you to tell me exactly what you mean, without being too witty?
FLORA. I'm really very sorry. Very sorry. If I'm witty, I honestly assure you it's an oversight. All I can tell you is that Cedric and I have had an extremely serious difference of opinion, on a vital matter, and there's no hope of our views being reconciled, and so we aren't going to get married.
CHARLES. Not really!
FLORA. Yes.
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Half to herself._) And this is all you can find to do, to help me with my article! (_To_ FLORA.) I suppose I must imitate your calmness.
FLORA. (_Winningly._) Oh! please do.
MRS. R. HASLAM. When did you and Cedric settle this?
FLORA. We haven't settled it. Have we had a moment alone together since we left Pixton? _I've_ settled it. One person can settle these things.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Do you mean to say that Cedric doesn't know what you're telling me?
FLORA. Not unless he's listening behind the door. I inform you before anyone.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Of course father and I both noticed that you were far from being yourselves. But we put it down to the shock and disappointment.
FLORA. To the Frampington accident? Oh, no! A Frampington accident might happen to any unmarried couple. I'm afraid our gloom was caused by nothing but a terrible fear.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Terrible fear?
FLORA. Terrible fear lest neither of us would have the audacity to profit by Mr. Frampington's revelation.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Audacity! Your audacity astounds me.
FLORA. Yes, it rather startles even me. Now, will you mind telling Cedric?
MRS. R. HASLAM. I! (_Looks at her. Then exit_, L.)
FLORA. Are you also struck dumb?
CHARLES. I suppose the kick-up was about--Snowdon versus honeymoon.
FLORA. Charlie, how penetrating you are, really! And you put it in a nutshell.
CHARLES. Well, when we burst into that hotel this morning I could have sworn something was wrong. Don't you remember I enquired what was the matter? And just now when I was asking Rick what he meant to do, it didn't want any very powerful penetration to see that there must have been a hades of a rumpus between him and you.
FLORA. (_Puzzlingly._) Oh! Didn't it? And what's your opinion? Do you think Snowdon ought to win?
CHARLES. Well, it's fiendishly important.
FLORA. I know. But don't you think a honeymoon's somehow more important?
CHARLES. _Some_ honeymoons might be.
FLORA. What should you have done in Cedric's place?
CHARLES. But look here, Flo, he _has_ given way, you know.
FLORA. Yes, but against his judgment.
CHARLES. Well, he couldn't help that.
FLORA. You're wrong, Charlie.
CHARLES. Am I?
FLORA. Couldn't help it? If Cedric can't control his judgment better than that, in a serious matter, at the very start of the marriage, so much the worse for him and for me.
CHARLES. Perhaps so.
FLORA. Charlie, there are some things that you understand better than Cedric.
CHARLES. That's what I always say, but no one believes me.
FLORA. It's true. Do you know I'm simply shaking?
CHARLES. Fright? (FLORA _nods_.) I can believe you are, but nobody'd guess it.
(_Half-enter_ CEDRIC, L.)
CEDRIC. (_Stopping at half-opened door. To somebody outside the room._) What's that you say? (_Exit again, leaving door ajar._)
FLORA. You'd better go. Don't forget the imitation curate's waiting for you.
CHARLES. Frizzle the imitation curate.
FLORA. You'll be in the way here--don't you see?
CHARLES. But you're sending me off just at the interesting part. And you'll all be gone to bed before I get back from the office.
FLORA. Yes, but I hope we shall all still be alive to-morrow. Now--there's a dear, before Cedric comes.
CHARLES. But--is it really serious? (FLORA _nods_.) Then we shan't have to go to Chelmsford to-morrow? (FLORA _shakes her head_.) Nor any other day? (FLORA _shakes her head_. CHARLES _moves reluctantly towards the door_.) Well, I can't realise it, and that's flat. I say----
FLORA. Yes?
CHARLES. Would you mind telling father or mother to see that my supper is set for me in the garden to-night? And something solid, too!
(_Enter_ CEDRIC.)
FLORA. I will.
(_Exit_ CHARLES, _back_.)
FLORA. I see your mother's told you. Well, what can I say to you?
CEDRIC. (_Sitting down._) You might congratulate me on the way I'm keeping calm under stress.
FLORA. But why do you come in like this and look at me like this?
CEDRIC. Idle curiosity! Having received the news from the mater, I was absurdly curious to hear any remarks you might have to make to me. So I came in--like this.
FLORA. Cedric, I did it the best way I could. I thought I would imitate the blandness of the sham curate. You haven't seen him to-night, but I may tell you he carries blandness further than it has ever been carried before.... I was afraid if I didn't do it at once it might never be done. I could see the time going on and going on, and me preparing myself to do this thing in a nice, kind, tactful, proper way, exactly as it should be done--and never doing it--never beginning to do it! And at last finding myself at Chelmsford to-morrow, and hypnotised by your mother and the Bishop. Cedric, I'm sure it's a mistake to _prepare_ to do a thing like this, leading up to it, and so on. The best plan is to let it go off with a frightful _bang_, anyhow, as I've done! Then the worst happens at the start instead of at the finish.
CEDRIC. I quite see the argument.
FLORA. (_With a nod of the head towards the door_, L.) You've told her the reason?
CEDRIC. She'd half guessed it. I made it seem as plausible as I could, in my taciturn way. But you know it would need a course of lectures to explain it properly.
FLORA. I suppose I ought to depart hence. Where is your mother now?
CEDRIC. She's briefly stating the facts to the head of the family.
FLORA. Cedric, don't you feel as if I'd lifted an enormous weight off your chest? Candidly!
CEDRIC. No; but I feel as if we'd been sitting all day in a stuffy railway carriage with a window that wouldn't open, and there'd been a collision that had pitched us clean through it. I've got oxygen, but I'm dashed if I can feel my legs.
FLORA. My dear Cedric, if you were seriously injured you couldn't talk like that.
(_Enter_, L., _during the last words_, MRS. REACH HASLAM _and_ MR. REACH HASLAM, _very solemn_.)
MRS. R. HASLAM. Has Charlie gone?
FLORA. Yes. By the way, he wants his supper set in the garden--he asked me to tell you.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Thank you.
FLORA. Something solid, he said.
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Sitting down._) Cedric, I wish your father to hear for himself exactly what the situation is. I naturally turn to him and leave everything _to_ him.... Now, father.
MR. R. HASLAM. So far as I've gathered, there seems to be some slight difficulty as to dates. To-day's the 20th--to-morrow will be the 21st (_looking at date calendar_). Yes, the 21st. Flora thinks the honeymoon ought to end on the 21st _prox._, whereas Cedric thinks the honeymoon ought to end in about ten days' time, say 1st _prox._ The difference of opinion (_ironical stress_) on this highly important matter, this fundamental matter, is final. Hence Flora has absolutely decided to break off the marriage.
FLORA. That's it.
MR. R. HASLAM. Nothing could be simpler.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora, how can you sit there and trifle with our deepest feelings, in this utterly cynical manner?
FLORA. (_Persuasively._) I hope we aren't going to converse as if we were characters in a powerful novel of modern society. This is real life, you know, let's talk as if we were real people--do you mind?
MRS. R. HASLAM. Personally, I am not aware of being unreal. But _you_ seem to be unaware that you are playing with tragic things.
FLORA. As I told Cedric in the first act----
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Staggered beyond measure._) In the first act!
FLORA. My dear. I'm only trying to fall in with your wish to turn this affair into a tragedy. If it is a tragedy, the first act occurred this morning. As I told Cedric this morning, we've stumbled across a question of vital principle. Is our marriage to be the most important thing in our lives, or isn't it? If it is, then nothing less than an earthquake could possibly disturb the honeymoon, because I suppose you'll admit the honeymoon is the most urgent part of matrimony. If our marriage is _not_ to be the most important thing in our lives--all right! That's a point of view that I can understand; only--I don't want to get married. And I won't! (_Pause._)
MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric, why don't you speak?
CEDRIC. Nothing to say.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Your silence is excessive.
FLORA. (_Still persuasively._) We solemnly arrange our honeymoon. Then Cedric happens to see a newspaper and he as good as says, "Here's something more important than our honeymoon. Our honeymoon must give way to this." And after all, this terrific something is nothing whatever but a purely business matter--something to do with the works.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Something to do with England, with Cedric's career, with Cedric's duty.
FLORA. (_Turning to_ MR. REACH HASLAM.) Supposing Cedric one day said he couldn't attend his father's funeral because his career called him elsewhere, because England wanted him, what should you say?
MR. R. HASLAM. I probably shouldn't open my mouth.
MRS. R. HASLAM. A funeral is different----
FLORA. It is. But I can't help thinking that if circumstances oughtn't to prevent a man from going to a funeral, they oughtn't to prevent him from going to his own honeymoon.
CEDRIC. I hope you won't lose sight of the fact that I gave way to you absolutely about five hours ago.
MR. R. HASLAM. That's the trouble.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Father!
MR. R. HASLAM. Yes, that's the trouble, because his giving way to her is a proof that he didn't share her views. What Flora objects to in Cedric is not what he does, but what he thinks. She seems to me to have no use for free-thinking in a husband.
FLORA. I won't argue any further.
MRS. R. HASLAM. But why not? Surely that is unreasonable.
FLORA. Because in an argument I always begin rather well, but in the end I'm apt to get beaten. So I just stop, especially when I know I'm right. I'm a short distance woman. All I say is--can you imagine me--_me_, running off to Ostend with a man who had sacrificed his career, and Snowdon, and all England, unwillingly, in order to go ... what gay little suppers we should have together!
MRS. R. HASLAM. One day, perhaps when it's too late, you'll realise that a wife's first duty, and therefore her greatest joy, is to help her husband. I know _I_ realised it, at once. When I was married, Reach was only earning three hundred a year; he was a solicitor's managing clerk--weren't you, father? I said to myself that I ought to try to help him, and so I began to write. And as a wife, I've been doing my best to help him ever since. After ten years I thought it advisable for him to give up the law. How much did I pay income-tax on last year, dear?
MR. R. HASLAM. Nineteen thousand four hundred pounds.
MRS. R. HASLAM. I don't boast, but you see what comes of trying to do one's wifely duty!
FLORA. Some women can do nothing but earn money. (CEDRIC _begins playing mechanically with an object on the table_.) I can only spend it. Two different talents! If I had a hundred pounds to throw away at this moment, I know what I should spend it on---- (_A pause. She looks round; exerting all her wayward charm._) Come, why doesn't some one ask me what I should spend it on?
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Gloomily perfunctory._) What should you spend it on?
FLORA. I should erect a statue to Mr. Frampington. It would be a good thing if there were a few more Frampingtons about, just to give people who've got as far as the vestry a chance of reconsidering their position.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Upon my word, Flora (_cuttingly_), one would say, from your sparkling wit, that you were quite in high spirits over the situation.
FLORA. Well, my dear, in one way I could cry my eyes out, but in another I _am_ rather uplifted when I think of what Mr. Frampington has saved us from.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Saved you from! (_Very courteously and quietly._) Really, I should have thought that any woman would have been more than a little flattered at the prospect of marrying into the Haslam family, of being the wife of Cedric. No house in London is more sought after than ours. It isn't too much to say that Cedric is now one of the most celebrated men in England----
CEDRIC. (_Crossly._) Look here, mater---- (_He keeps his head down; he is still playing with the object on the table._)
MR. R. HASLAM. (_Sharply._) Cedric! (MRS. REACH HASLAM _looks at her husband, as if expecting him majestically to reprove his son_.) I wish you'd play with something else for a change.
MRS. R. HASLAM. I speak kindly, but I speak plainly, and I'm not ashamed of doing so. I say one of the most celebrated men in England. Indeed, it wouldn't surprise me to learn that among the masses of the people Cedric is better known even than I am myself.
CEDRIC. Mater, I'm off!
MR. R. HASLAM. (_Severely to him._) You'll kindly stay where you are. There are times when one ought to be frank. (_Still very courteously and quietly to_ FLORA.) You know I was not at first altogether in favour of this marriage--not what could be described as uncontrollably enthusiastic about it. I have appreciated your excellent qualities, but----
FLORA. (_Smiling._) Please don't expose me. Comfort yourself with the thought of what Mr. Frampington has saved _you_ from.
(MR. REACH HASLAM _rises softly and goes towards door, back_.)
MRS. R. HASLAM. Where are you going, father?
MR. R. HASLAM. I thought I'd just make sure about Charlie's supper, before it slipped my memory. (_Exit back._)
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Turning to_ FLORA _again, pained_.) You are forgetting the terrible scandal that will ensue if you persist in your present course, dear Flora. The honeymoon actually begun! and then--this bombshell! How shall we break it to the Bishop? How can I ever look the Bishop in the face again! How can I ever look anybody in the face again?... To-day of all days, when my new book has just come out! And with my article to finish, on the decline of the birthrate among the well-to-do classes!... How _can_ we explain to people that the marriage is broken off when there's certain to be an account of the wedding in every paper to-morrow morning?
FLORA. That, at any rate, isn't my fault. By-the-way, how _did_ that paragraph get into the "Piccadilly Gazette"? (_Mischievously._) I suppose it must have slipped in while you were looking the other way.
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_With controlled acerbity._) When you begin to figure prominently in the life of your country, Flora, you'll understand, perhaps, a little better than you do now that newspaper reporters, whatever their sex, simply will not be denied. They reside on the doorstep. One cannot be rude. At least I can't.
FLORA. I hope I never shall figure prominently in the life of my country. But I want to figure prominently in the life of my husband.
MRS. R. HASLAM. The newspapers----
CEDRIC. Excuse me, mater, but isn't this right off the point?
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_To herself._) And I was looking forward to a quiet half hour with my press-cuttings!
(_Silence._)
(_Enter_ MR. REACH HASLAM _cautiously, back_.)
MR. R. HASLAM. (_Mildly cheerful._) Well, where have you got to?
FLORA. I think we're gradually working back again to the importance of marriage in the life of the husband.
MR. R. HASLAM. That's better! That's better! (_Sits._)
MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora, you'll pardon me offering my opinion, as an experienced student of human nature, but when you say "the importance of marriage," I think you really mean your own individual importance. Personal vanity is very misleading.
FLORA. Oh! It is.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Your attitude might be more defensible if you were a different _kind_ of woman. I don't say it would be more defensible, but it might be.
CEDRIC. Oh, look here, mater----
MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric, may I venture to converse in my own study?
FLORA. (_To_ CEDRIC.) Don't you understand that this is not your act? (_Rising._) How a different kind of woman?
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Quietly courteous._) I mean, if you brought more to the marriage.
FLORA. Money? I'm not rich, but you see I'm rich enough to despise ten thousand pounds.
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Protesting._) Flora! Please don't mention such a thing! Have _I_ mentioned it? I think we Haslams are as capable as anybody of despising ten thousand pounds. (_Very kindly._) No, I mean, if you had more to show in the way of--shall I say?--striking personal talent. You can have no _rôle_ except that of wife, purely social and domestic. And yet your attitude seems somehow to claim the privileges of a--a great singer, or a great pianist, or----
FLORA. A great novelist?
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Imperturbable._) No, no. I was thinking more of public performers.... Genius.... If you had genius, talents. Mind, I'm not blaming you for not having them. I make no reflection whatever.... Of course you are good, I hope, and you're beautiful.
FLORA. So they say.
MRS. R. HASLAM. But beauty is a mere gift--from heaven.
FLORA. My dear, what's the difference between a talent, and a gift from heaven? I remember not very long since you were really quite annoyed because the "Saturday Review," I think it was, referred to you as "Mrs. Reach Haslam, the talented novelist." Whereas you are constantly being called the "gifted novelist," and you like it. (_She begins to sit down._)
MR. R. HASLAM. Pardon me. "Like" is too strong a word. My wife prefers to be mentioned as "Mrs. Reach Haslam," simply--don't you, dear? One doesn't expect to read in the papers "Mr. Balfour, the talented statesman," "Lord Northcliffe, the talented statesman." One expects only "Mr. Balfour," "Lord Northcliffe."
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Waving him graciously into silence._ _To_ FLORA.) I willingly admit, dear, that in its origin a talent--like mine, if you insist--_is_ a gift from heaven. But what years of study are necessary to perfect it! Whereas mere beauty, charm----
FLORA. (_Having sat down, and finally arranged her fan and shawl, etc._) It's taken me at least seven years of intense study to learn to sit down like that--and in another two years I shall do it even better. (_With a delightful smile._)
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Graciously lenient._) But seriously----
FLORA. Seriously? (_Stopping, in a different tone._) My dear, did the Bishop say anything when I left the room?
MRS. R. HASLAM. Say anything! About what?
FLORA. About me.
MR. R. HASLAM. He remarked that you were a ravishing creature.
FLORA. Jokingly?
MR. R. HASLAM. No. He was quite serious.
FLORA. That's just it. If it was only frivolous, empty-headed boys who were serious about it, but it isn't. The most high-minded, middle-aged men are serious about it. Why, even chaffeurs and policemen are serious about it. There must be _something_ in it. Wherever I go people are more serious about me than about anybody else--even if singers and pianists happen to be present. If I arrive late at the theatres I'm the play for at least two minutes. And I assure you in the streets it often occurs that men I don't know hurry after me very seriously about it--even if I'm veiled. And yet you and I have the same dressmaker! It's always been like that--ever since my first marriage. And it's getting more and more marked. I don't mind telling you, my dear, that my own secret view of my importance is perhaps as modest as yours is of yours--but what can you and I do against the universal opinion? I've begin to bow before the storm. It's the wisest course. You talk about what I bring to the marriage (_proudly_). I bring to the marriage the gift of heaven, cultivated by the labour of a lifetime, and, as to its value, there's only one estimate, except yours (_with a catch in her voice_)--and Cedric's! Cedric puts an aeroplane higher.
CEDRIC. I beg your pardon----
FLORA. (_With emotion._) Yes, you do! Yes, you do! When there came a conflict between my honeymoon and your aeroplane, you decided instantly against the honeymoon, before I'd even been asked! You didn't even consult me.
CEDRIC. Aeroplane! Aeroplane! You keep on saying aeroplane, but----
FLORA. (_Calmer._) Listen. I know you've given way. I know you've offered not to sacrifice the honeymoon, but don't you really think still in your own mind that the honeymoon _ought_ to be sacrificed? (CEDRIC _does not answer--pause_.) You know perfectly well it's a relief to you that I've cried off! Come, honestly now?
MR. R. HASLAM. (_Warningly, under his breath._) Not _too_ honestly.
CEDRIC. (_Quietly._) Yes, I _do_ think part of the honeymoon ought to be sacrificed. And I never dreamed that you would think otherwise. It's a difference of opinion that simply staggers me. It doesn't only stagger me--it frightens me. It makes one reflect, you know.
FLORA. Then you _are_ relieved? You're grateful.
CEDRIC. (_Moved and stammering._) I ought to be. Of course you're the only person who could cry off.
FLORA. What do you mean?
CEDRIC. Some things a man can't do.
FLORA. Do you sit there and say that if I hadn't cut the knot, you'd have gone on, and you'd have let me go on, with a marriage you didn't believe in? Because you're a man, and there are some things a man can't do! Can't a man show as much pluck as a woman? That _does_ settle it! (_Controlling herself._)
MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora, you'll regret you've thrown Cedric over. You'll certainly want to come back to him.
FLORA. (_Disdainfully._) Shall I! (_Politely._) Good-night, Mrs. Haslam.
MRS. R. HASLAM. But where are you going?
FLORA. I don't know. How can I stay here? My official connection with this house is ended. I shall go to a hotel. Good-night. _So_ many thanks!
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Rising and going to her; firmly._) I'm sure you'll oblige me by not scandalising the servants. You can choose a hotel to-morrow morning. I'll go with you to your room, if I may. All your trunks will be up there by this time.
(_Exeunt_ FLORA, _submissive, and_ MRS. REACH HASLAM, _back_.)
(MR. REACH HASLAM _slowly prepares for work at desk_.)
CEDRIC. I'm off into the garden. (_Pulls out his cigarette case._) (_Exit_, L.)
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Aside as_ CEDRIC _goes_.) Nincompoop!
(_Enter_ MRS. REACH HASLAM.)
MRS. R. HASLAM. Dear, before I go on with that article, I should like to make a few notes on Flora's demeanour, while the thing's fresh in my mind. One never knows when that kind of stuff won't come in useful.
MRS. R. HASLAM. Where's the boy?
MR. R. HASLAM. In the garden. (_Half to himself._) Of all places!
MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Collecting her thoughts and beginning to dictate._) "Essentially hysterical in a crisis, but does not pull a face before weeping, probably owing to advice from toilette specialist." Yes, full stop.
(CURTAIN.)